The Hours
by AidenB
Summary: Sydney Bristow’s time is running out. She just doesn’t know it yet.Chpt 3 is up.
1. De mortuis nil nisi bonum

**SUMMARY: Sydney Bristow's time is running out. She just doesn't know it yet.**

**A/N: This is my fic 'Break Me', only revamped. Be patient with me because I want to do well and make a good story.**

**Disclaimer: It's on my user page folks. **

* * *

**_She lets out a long ragged breath, the desert stretches out like worn material seemingly endlessly and the sun swells horrendously a match in vividness for the thick dark blood that oozes from her wracked body. Excruciating pain tears through her suddenly as she dares to move and she resists the overwhelming urge to throw up. Staggering forwards blindly, unable to focus in her pain she doesn't see the crumbling precipice before her or the cavernous drop that follows it. The sun's heat furls around her weak frame like a blanket and entices sweat from her already destabilized body. She stands up straight for a few painful seconds and draws out a rasping ragged cough, blood explodes like fireworks from her lips and she then falls._**

* * *

****

**PRESENT DAY.**

**S**he swerves the car dangerously off balance,into a dimly lit one way street, just missing a white transit van., it gleams white like the moon and then speedsaway from her.

The distant blare of the horn fills her ears.

Gasping with adrenaline at the near miss Sydney Bristow's body stumbles out of the car, drunk and dishevelled she looses her footing and her heels send her crashing down onto her knees. They are grazed but she's lived through worse, she rakes a hand through her hair which is in desperate need of a wash and in the process, she catches sight of her reflection in the shimmer of a puddle of water; a remnant of the previous night's thunderstorm. Even in the dirty water she can see that her appearance leaves much to be desired.  
Even in that muddy dark water, she can see how…lost she looks.

It's terrifying. What her life has become. She's a shell of the person she once was, unrecognisable.  
Not worth _shit._

Even under such a forgiving, round full moon, with all the stars and atmosphere she can't be beautiful. At least she has the sense to realise that it's probably best if she doesn't continue driving, especially in her inebriated state.

So she walks instead. Traipsing around the New York streets she goes unnoticed, or perhaps people do notice her and simply want nothing to do with her. After all, look at her, in her torn dress and heels that click obnoxiously, she appears to be the faded party girl who's been thrown out of a party so they ignore her. That's fine with Sydney, she wants nothing to do with them either. Clutching a bottle of whiskey, the glass cool around her hot fingers, she stumbles drunkenly through out the streets.

The path she walks lead her past the window of a still open bar. Here her reflection is illuminated, it's stronger and more defined, and it is how she is finally able to see what she must look like to others. Sydney sees herself in all her drunken, dishevelled, pathetic glory.  
She roars with disgust at her self and what she's become and aims the bottle at the bar window, it shatters on impact and sprays the streets with dark liquid.

Passers by stop and stare and Sydney feels like a freak of nature, an experiment gone wrong. She scowls and curses at them, then she breaks into a run, her dress in tatters, the heel of one shoe breaks off and yet she still runs. The tears that flood from her face and mix with the grime on her features, blind her and she almost doesn't see the blacked out sleek Rolls Royce.  
The car screeches to a halt and Sydney stares into the headlights, holding her forearm over her head to shield her eyes from the fierce light. For a moment she wants to crumple in the middle of the street, let the car drive over her. She doesn't. Instead she keeps running, ignoring the call of the driver.

* * *

**T**he woman that stands illuminated in Sark's headlights looks so much like Sydney Bristow that it makes him uneasy. The naked fear he felt when he thought it was her is something he can't ignore. He still has some residual feelings for her.

He thought he was over her, when after spending so much time searching for her and coming up with nothing, he realised there was perhaps nothing to be found.  
If she'd wanted to be found, she'd make it happen.

She was rogue now, and all the more dangerous for it.

At least when she was CIA, he knew where she stood; for the good, the righteous, for Vaughn. Now she was gone without a trace. Dust in the wind. A ghost he was slowly learning to live with.

That same 'ghost' had nearly driven him insane, not once had Sydney given him any indication of what she felt when he flirted shamelessly with him and yet he'd still looked for her, on the off chance that now she was rogue, she might be more accepting of him. Little old emotionally, ethically and morally bankruptJulian Sarkwith the strong, admirable, decent, honest, proud Sydney Bristow.

Crazy, right?

Then after two years that was it, he just gave up. He's moved on, or so he thinks. If he has moved on then why is he seeing her on street corners? Why is he calling her name into the New York darkness?

That woman was _not_ Sydney Bristow. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.  
As far as he knew, Sydney Bristow was no longer her name, for all he knew she was dead.

He gets back into his Mercedes and presses his head back into the leather, for a moment heis silent, he lets his thoughts settle like dust. Then the honk of a car horn bringshim abruptlyback to reality.

Sydney Bristow is no more, he tells himself.

Get used to it.


	2. Mutato nomine

**The Hours**

**Summary: Sydney Bristow's time is running out. She just doesn't know it yet.**

**Disclaimer: It's on my user page.**

**A/N: Don't worry, this is actually going somewhere. It's going to be a long journey but it'll get there in the end.**

* * *

**_'Can you see what you've done to my heart _**

**_And soul?_****_  
This is a wasteland now'_**

**_  
-Interpol-_**

* * *

Sydney feels the light, the sterility of the hospital, first. Before she opens her eyes she can already feel the cool cotton on her body. When she does open her eyes, there is no friendly face to greet her. She's been curtained off. To rest she supposes. Or perhaps the elusive men in white have finally come for her. She wouldn't be surprised. Not with the way things have been going. 

Letting out a dry cough she pushes the sheets she's practically been mummified into and lets her bare clean feet touch the cold floor. She's obviously not going to stay, that would be immensely foolish.  
She's glad her purse only contained a lipstick and some money and nothing incriminating. So she says goodbye to the dress and heels she'd been wearing before she somehow ended up in hospital and steals some jeans and a plaid men's shirt from a sleeping neighbour beside her.  
Turns out it's still night.  
She hits gold when she uncovers some sewing needles at the bed of an elderly woman a few stalls down. They might come in hand, if she were to run into an trouble so she stuffs them into her pocket. Sydney can hear the canvas heeled squeak of a nurse on her rounds so she tucks her hair under a flat cap (also stolen), giving her an almost boyish look and then with cat like elegance she proceeds to climb out of the hospital window. The drop is higher than she thought, and she twists her ankle as her body meets the ground but other than that she's fine. Physically anyway.  
Where to now?

* * *

Sydney begin to walk down the street, limping slightly and vaguely aware that she has no shoes on. Tucking her hands in her trouser pockets and keeping to herself. She needs a car and she can't remember where she left hers in this blasted city. So she walks a lot further on till she passes a high rise hotel and spots a black Mercedes, secluded by some hedges. With a relieved smile she easily picks the lock, using the sewing needles she's stashed in her trouser pockets. She slides into the car and is thrown into panic when the car alarm begins to squeal. She ducks under the glove compartment to try and disable it, only to hear the car door slam and the all too familiar feel of a gun nozzle on her neck. 

"Nice try, but you really ought to have checked whether anyone was around" sighs an impatient, distinctly British voice.

She swears to herself but doesn't respond to the man. Instead she brings her elbow smashing into his chest and stumbles out of the car, cursing as he grabs her head and tears the cap from her head. She turns around in shock and it's then that she meets the blue eyes she thought she'd never see again.

"Sydney" says Sark faintly, in his hand is the flat cap, his eyes stare at her blankly as her hair falls down her shoulders.

Sydney shakes her head in confusion and makes a run for it, the skin on the soles of her feet tear on the pavement but she doesn't care.

* * *

"Sydney!" she turns her head slightly as she's running and realises Sark has caught up with her in his car. He calls to her through the open passenger window 

"Go away" she snarls menacingly but there is a desperate tone in her voice

"Wait! I can help you" he offers, the same desperateness is plain in his tone too

Sydney closes her eyes and stands still, letting the cool weather wash over her and then she looks at him silently and nods.

Sark's voice becomes firm "Get in"

She walks slowly at first and then before she realises it, she's in his car and he's driving. Before in her old life she would have never even dreamt of standing near him but now…there are no rules no boundaries. There's just survival. If she's going to get revenge, find answers then he's the closet thing to that than anything else. She needs him.

"What happened to you?" he says as he drives.

Sydney's eyes meet his and she ignores his question, choosing instead to watch the scenery fly by as Sark speeds down the high way, this way, he can't see the tears that glimmer fat and bright in her eyes.

* * *

Sydney wakes up with a jolt and realises that her dream is in fact a reality. She is indeed in a car with Sark, being driven to god knows where. She turns to him and he looks tired and older than she remembers. 

"Where are we?" she says, stifling a yawn

They appear to be outside a secluded gated housing area with wrought iron gates and a security guard box at the end of the road.

"LA" he responds quietly and is quite unprepared for her reaction. Her eyes widen and she looks disgusted.

"What?" he says plainly

Sydney gives him a warning look and says nothing. He's expression becomes unreadable as he meets her eyes, she's almost unrecognisable now. The caged look she gave him when he caught her only a few hours ago flashes back vividly in his mind. Something is terribly wrong with her.

"This is…a gated community. It's safe don't worry. I stay here sometimes. When I'm working" he explains

She knows he isn't referring to the typical 9- job and she wonders when was the last time she was on a case.

He checks in at the guard's centre and then the iron gates swing open and he drives them into a beautiful housing estate overlooking the ocean. His house is furthest from everyone else and is a beautiful design, with an almost Moroccan undercurrent in the style of which it is built.

"You live here?" she asks out loud, quietly impressed although by the seeming permanent sadness in her face, you wouldn't know it.

Sark nods "It's cosy". They get out of the car and he opens the front door, they are greeted by a heavy built man with a thick Italian accent in a smart black suit.

"Sydney, this is Eddie. He is head of my security detail and a good friend of mine" says Sark

Sydney nods in the man's direction and ignores the disdain in his eyes at her appearance. "This is Sydney Bristow…"

"Not Sydney…Persephone Williams" she says blankly

Sark stares at her for a few moments with silent and wary confusion, then he looks back at Eddie "Could you make sure that Raquel has a guest bedroom made up for er…Miss. Williams"

Eddie nods "Sure boss, you eatin' or what?"

Sark transfers his gaze from Sydney back to Eddie "Yes, I suppose we shall"

"I'll get Cook to rustle up something, ya got any bags?…" he trailed off and looked at Sydney who was looking increasingly uncomfortable

"No" she mumbled and tucked her fingernails into her pocket

Eddie shrugs and disappears back into the house. Sark walks into the house soon after, closely followed by Sydney. His home is magnificent, with an affluent atmosphere and rich mahogany wood. The floors are marble and her feet feel cold against them suddenly.

"Would you like something to change into?" asks Sark awkwardly "Before dinner? Then we can talk"

Sydney is unsure. Talking is the last thing on her mind, she just wants to sleep. She'll have to start explaining herself sooner or later though.

"I doubt you'd have anything in my size" she deadpans

He smirks and she almost smiles at that expression on his face. She remembers how much it used to irritate her.

"The couple that house sit for me, usually leave some clothes lying around. I'm sure the girl is somewhere around your size"

His eyes travel over her body and he looks saddened by how dishevelled and weak she appears. Sydney folds her arms across her chest and looks up at the stairs.

"Where are they?"

"Uh…in the third bedroom on the left. If you'd like…you can have a shower. You must be tired" he looks down at her dirty feet

Suddenly Sydney can't stand him being so nice to her, she doesn't deserve it. She nods her head tersely and heads up the stairs. Sark watches her go with quiet disappointment.  
The woman he spoke to is not Sydney Bristow, she's a shadow of that woman.  
Persephone Williams. Or so she calls herself. There's a lot that's happened to her, that much is obvious. He wonders if someone out there has finally broken her spirit. He wonders if he'll ever see the person that Persephone William's has taken over, again.

By the way tonight has gone, the fear in her eyes, her obvious fragility.

He doubts he ever will.


	3. Concordia discors

**The Hours**

**Summary: Sydney Bristow's time is running out. She just doesn't know it yet.**

**Disclaimer: It's on my user page.**

**A/N: This is shorter than it should be but there'll be a lot more soon.**

**_I can't keep up  
'cause you're so far gone_**  
**-Death Cab For Cutie-**

* * *

She ties her hair back and sits down on the wide bed. The room where the spare clothes are is decorated in a similar vein to the rest of the grand house. Porcelain and delicate silk offset by hard red mahogany and marble floors. Sydney stares at her reflection, the clothes she's borrowed are made for a much curvier girl, she thinks. The light grey button down vest top is flat where her chest should be and the trousers do not follow any shape on her legs. She tugs at the label and sees that the size is actually hers.  
Now she knows why she doesn't fit them. She's lost too much weight. Trying to bulk herself up, she puts on an off white roll neck sweater. This seems to pad her out a little, exhaling she shoots one last glance at her reflection in the antique full length mirror and pokes sadly at her sinking cheekbones. Then she heads downstairs.

* * *

"I suppose you were quite hungry" says Sark after a while. Whilst he has been content to just sip from a round glass of almost black wine Sydney has been making her way through a heaving plate of food.

She looks up at him, suddenly self conscious and puts down her knife. "I forgot my manners" says Sydney with the quietest hint of chagrin

"No, I'm glad your eating…it's good to see you eat Sydney"

She slams her glass down on the pristine white tablecloth and wine erupts from it, spraying out onto the cloth like blood splatter.

"My name is Persephone Williams. Got it?"

Sark's eyes become darker than is natural "Forgive me, I didn't mean to offend you by using your name" the sarcasm in his voice is like a faint scent of perfume, barely there but definetly palpable, stronger than the sarcasm is the frustration in his tone

She rises from her chair "Sark, I thought you were going to help me…not ask stupid questions"

Sark rises too "I'm not aware of me ever once saying I was going to help you"

"Yeah, well why am I not surprised. You're a stranger…I didn't expect you to help me" she mutters darkly

"A stranger? What are you talking about?" he snaps, puzzled and quickly losing impatience "You! You're a stranger! I've never met you before. Obviously" she snaps back quickly and can only hold his gaze for a few seconds

"I see. So you truly are Persephone Williams. Not Sydney Bristow?"

Sark sits back down and takes a rather too long sip of his wine and then looks at her, and replies in a monotonous tone. "I was mistaken then. Perhaps you might explain how it is you know my name then?"

He's got her there. Her eyes begin to swim with tears and he's disgusted. Sydney Bristow was never this quick to show her cards. She was a strong and dynamic woman. The person standing before him is a pathetic, whimpering confused girl.

"Stop it" she whispers and begins to shake her head

He stands up, with poison at the tip of his tongue. Like a snake, ready to strike. "You are Sydney Bristow, and you can never forget that…"

"Stop it"

"You were a CIA agent…."

"I said stop! Stop it!"

"…Who went rogue, your on the most wanted list, people want you dead. Your father is…"

"STOP IT!"

The final scream from her lips forms an act of physical violence as she throws her chair across the long dining table at him, it crashes into his glass and sent shards of it spraying out into the air like a waterfall.  
Hissing like a cat, Sark backs away and glowers at her. They stare at each other, the air is so thick with deadly tension that neither of them dare to breathe for fear of being seen as the weaker one.

"If you want answers then I'm your best shot. But first your going to have to start being honest with yourself" he states firmly. He's shown his hand first.

Sydney shakes her head and relents, she wants to cry but she can't. Instead the tension has made her tired, the entire day has stripped her raw and she just wants to sleep.

"Fine. But if you ever cross me I will kill you with my own bare hands" she says softly

The darkness in her eyes, assures Sark that Sydney will carry out her promise if he goes against her.

Sark nods, feeling that they have reached somewhere in this whole saga. "Get some rest. We'll discuss what shall happen in the morning. Pick any room you wish, the one at the end of the hall is mine"

Sydney nods and stands still, trapped in thought. Only awakening when she realises he is standing in front of her, looking at her with thoughtful intent.

"What?" she hisses

He shakes his head faintly and nods at her "Goodnight…Sydney". He is about to leave when she stops him, one hand on his shoulder.

Sydney lets go quickly and then speaks "Persephone Williams was a friend of mine, when things went…wrong. She was there for me, when she was killed I took her name"

* * *

Sark is surprised by this revelation, now as she goes to bed, whispering an almost inaudible goodnight, he is now the one standing deep in thought. Her revelation, may be cryptic and brief but for now it's something. He's unravelled one part of her web of mystery and he will unravel the rest of her mystery. 


End file.
